


Safe And Sound

by Nathamuel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, BDSM elements, Blindfolds, Bondage, Bottom Derek, Established Relationship, Feeding, Gags, M/M, POV Second Person, Rimming, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sensory Deprivation, Stiles Takes Care Of Derek, Subspace, Trust, past subdrop mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:46:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nathamuel/pseuds/Nathamuel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once every few months Derek lets Stiles tie him down and cut off all of his senses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe And Sound

**Author's Note:**

> It seems I have a kink for Stiles taking care of Derek so expect more of that in the future.  
> This is set in an unnamed future, everyone is alive and Stiles and Derek have been in a relationship for a while and live together. That's really all that's important to know for this story. :)
> 
> My thanks goes to momomomma for looking over this and telling me that it doesn't suck. :D

Everything is silent around you. Deafened. You can't hear a thing through the muffs that are over your ears.

You're blind too. The cloth over your eyes so dark that no light shines through it.

The smell of coffee in the air keeps you from smelling anything else. You don't know where Stiles is, and with the gag in your mouth you can't call out for him, but it’s ok like this. 

You like it. You like the silence and the calm around you.

You like that you can't move, and that you're lying face down on Stiles bed with your hands tied behind your back and your ass raised into the air by the pillows under your hips.

A spreader bar keeps your legs apart.

You have turned your head to the side against the pillow to breathe easier. 

It's warm and you're weirdly comfortable. Weirdly vulnerable as well, with all of your senses cut off, but you trust Stiles and you know, in a way that you don't want to think too closely about, that all of your betas, and even Scott and the humans, are on the watch out right now. Far enough away not to hear anything about what's happening in this room, but close enough that they will know if there is the threat of Stiles and you being interrupted.

It makes shame boil deep inside yourself to think that they know what is happening here, what you allow Stiles to do to you. That they know how vulnerable you make yourself around him, for him. So you don't really think about it at all.

A distant part of you is aware of how stupid your thoughts are, and you also know that Stiles probably told all of them that you're both fucking, and that "mommy and daddy" don't want to be interrupted. The first time you heard him refer to you both like that you rolled your eyes, you still do. Stiles doesn’t have a maternal bone in his body, he's more the annoying genius brother that gets people out of trouble as much as getting them into it.

You know that Stiles is doing that for you though, so that it doesn't sound as serious and desperate as it is, so that you feel safe, and you always feel safer knowing that your pack has your back.   
It took a while for you to trust them like this, to trust Stiles in this. To trust him with your body and your mind, your safety and your weakness.

When he first suggested this, cutting off your senses and tying you down so you can't move, you avoided him for a week, furious at him for suggesting it and scared by your own interest, your own want, and the first time was a disaster. You were jumpy, and Stiles was his usual flaily self, and it didn't work. 

You jumped and snarled every time he touched you without warning, too scared at the loss of your senses to relax, to let go, and not trusting him enough not to hurt you.  
Practice made you both more comfortable. Starting with one sense after another, and building up to the now.

The warmth of Stiles' palm hovering over your skin warns you of his touch. He's slow enough that you don't startle when he lays his hand on your bound arms and slides it down, raising goose bumps until he stops at your hands, held in loose fists. One of your hands holds a bright pink ball. You scowled at Stiles the first time he showed the ball to you, and he had laughed, embarrassed, and eventually he had backed down when you growled at him.

The need for safe words and safety means, of backing out of a scene, baffled you the first time Stiles confronted you with it. You got that there was a need for Stiles; he wouldn't be able to fight you off even if he panicked but you could. You could break the bonds with ease if you felt uncomfortable, if you wanted them gone, and you could hurt him, kill him, just as easily. He didn't fight you on it.

The first time you understood the need was the first time you slipped so far into subspace that you weren't aware of anything anymore. Until you had completely disconnected from your body, and the panicked touch, and the voice of Stiles was the first thing you felt and heard when you came back to yourself, cold and shaking and completely disoriented. 

It freaked both of you out so bad that you didn't attempt anything like that again for almost a year, and Stiles had researched anything he could a second time. You both worked on your communication in that year as well, and when Stiles asked you again you agreed to hold that ridiculous bright pink ball when he silenced you. From that time on you had a safe word too. 

Stiles' other hand joins the one on your arms and his thumbs rub over the pulse in your wrists before sliding up to your shoulders in a warm broad line that makes you sigh against the gag.

The fingers ghost over your neck to your scalp and drag through your hair, and you can feel the vibrations in your chest and throat when you purr at this, arching into it. He touches you all over, drawing muffled noises out of you, and you feel Stiles chuckle against your cheek when he leans down and kisses the side of your mouth that is stretched around the gag.

While Stiles mouths at your neck his palms strokes down your back and his lips leave your skin as he sits back on his heels behind you, between your spread thighs.

You moan low in your throat. 

Stiles grabs the sides of your ass and spreads your cheeks apart. The plug is a heavy weight in your ass and you flush at the thought that Stiles is looking at the base right now while it stretches you open. 

You feel Stiles grip the edge of the toy and twist it inside of you and you moan, muffled, and move against it, rocking into the pressure it creates. Stiles' hand on your ass stills you and then he pulls the plug out of you. The widest part holds you open and you whine high in your throat. 

Your hole gapes when Stiles pulls it out and you squirm right before a tongue licks a stripe over your crack and you howl. 

Both of Stiles' hands hold your hips in place when he swirls his tongue around and around the rim and pushes the tip inside. With all of your senses cut off it's the only feeling you can concentrate on. It's more intense than any other time.

You gasp and pant, you can feel it in your chest as your arms and legs strain against the bonds, but you don't break them. 

The thought occurs to you that you wish that you could hear him, know what he's saying if he's saying anything at all. You wish that you could smell him to know if he's just as aroused as you are. (You know he is, he told you how much he loves seeing you like this, and there had been no lie in his heartbeat.)

When you're even more sloppily wet and open, Stiles' mouth leaves you, making you whine at the loss, and the plug is slowly pushed back into place.

The movement of the bed indicates that Stiles is leaving. He smooth’s his fingers over your sides a last time, and then he breaks contact, and you don't know where he is anymore. It's like he disappeared. He could be gone from the room and you wouldn't know. You don't panic because he wouldn't leave you like this. He made you wait in the living room while he prepared everything beforehand, before he put the blindfold onto you and took your hand and lead you to the bedroom. 

Stiles is thorough like that. 

You sink back into a haze of warmth and complete and utter silence, and the only thing you can feel is the thrumming of your own body, the beating of your heart as it pumps blood through your veins, and the softness where your body touches the bed. 

You're lulled into a sense of disconnect. It's pleasant. You're warm. You feel everything, but it is more distant somehow, but you're not lost. It feels safe. You're safe. There is nothing beyond your body and Stiles.

Occasionally Stiles touches you, unhurriedly, warm points over your skin before he makes contact, and you always know by that when he'll brush his fingertips against your side, or slide a palm over your back, wrap a hand over your neck to scratch gently over the short hair at the nape. 

There is no pattern and, beside his bare hand, you don't know if Stiles is clothed or naked. You don't know if he speaks to you, running his mouth even though you can't hear him, or if he's as silent as you are. 

You wonder how hard it is for him to move so slow around you.

You lose sense of time. It could be minutes or hours or days between touches. A kiss to your shoulder blade and a soft twist at the toy in your ass are the only things swirling within the haze in your head. 

Sometimes Stiles tests the bonds at your ankles and wrists, checking if they have rubbed at your skin, and flutters his fingers over the ball in your fist. You don't think they have because you don't think that you have moved all that hard. 

You don't know how much time has passed when Stiles helps you kneel on the bed. He unties your arms and rebinds them in front of you with the ball still securely but loosely held in your hands. Then you feel his hands on your legs, removing the spreader bar.

You sway a little and he steadies you, pressing kisses to your skin until you can hold yourself up without any effort. He fiddles with the clasp of the gag while you lean against him, and a moment later it comes off and you crack your jaw a little bit.

Stiles' mouth lands over yours and he slips his tongue between your lips, soft and careful, and then you slowly move from the bed, Stiles' hands on you all the time, grounding you, until you are standing. Then he leads you from the room, over the soft rug of the corridor and down the stairs of your shared home (another thing that's still frightening you, scared that it will be ripped from you like so many things in your life) into the kitchen. The tiles under your feet are warm and you know he heated them just for you. Carefully he sits you down, the plug jarring in your ass, but it doesn't hurt. You settle comfortably on the chair with your hands still bound and all of your senses still restricted.

You breathe in the silence, knowing that Stiles is clattering around the kitchen, the air moving against your skin as he moves around the room. The ground shakes ever so lightly when Stiles walks past you. On a rug you would have had a harder time making him out, even as his steps are slow and careful, and would be almost soundless to anyone else.

It's one of the things that still puzzle you about these scenes because every time you are blind and mute and deaf and unable to smell anything around you, when you can't use your arms, Stiles wants to feed you.   
You suspect that it might have to do with your own regard of your body. It's a weapon, a tool for you to get what you need, to protect you and seduce others if it will give you an advantage, but not something to be taken care.

That Stiles would be attracted to more than just your body took some time to understand and get used to. 

In a scene like this Stiles forces you to feel your body, cuts you off from your surrounding until your body is all you feel anymore.

The vibration of the floor when Stiles scratches the chair over it makes you focus on him again and you lay your bound arms on the table top, fingers bumping lightly against the porcelain of a plate, and you flinch because you hadn't anticipated it being so close. 

You feel Stiles' hand on yours right afterwards as the plate is moved away, and he brushes his thumbs against the place where you are bound to soothe you. You calm and one of Stiles' hands leaves you, the other traveling up your arm. 

Stiles' fingers tap against the muscles of your forearm in warning a moment before the metal of the spoon touches your lips. 

You open your mouth.

The soup Stiles feeds you is lukewarm and would taste bland could you access all of your senses. Like this, though, it tastes rich on your tongue but not overwhelmingly so.

You're suddenly ravenous, and you're too eager on the next spoonful, some of it dribbling down into your beard. You lick your lips and fingertips against the side of your face warn you before Stiles' tongue licks the stubble on your cheeks, taking the rest of the spilled soup with you.

He kisses you before pulling away.

The next time you're more careful, but you curl your tongue around the metal in a way you know is obscene and lick your lips because you know what he likes. The fingers on your arms tap warningly but the little vibration in them tell you that Stiles is laughing.

You enjoy every spoonful Stiles feeds you. The soup warms you from the inside out just as effectively as Stiles' touch has started to.

Time passes by without you noticing and Stiles' hand squeezing your arm is the signal that the feeding is done and a moment later the touch leaves.

You feel boneless in your seat, and with your belly full and your body warm, you feel content.  
You track Stiles by the slight vibrations under your feet. 

Again, you lose track of time, you're not even sure if you ever had track of time in the first place. It doesn't matter because after a long while you feel warmth at your shoulders and Stiles leans against the backrest of the chair to run his hands slowly over your chest and down over your stomach, rubbing there in a warm circle, and farther down over your thighs, bypassing your half-hard cock. His breath fans over the flesh of your shoulders and you wordlessly crane your neck. He complies with your silent plea, and teases his teeth over the tendons without biting down.

You want him to, but you don't ask, comfortable in your silence. With a final pat to your belly, he steps away from you and urges you to stand.

Your feet lead you from warm tiles to soft rug and up the stairs.

In your room, Stiles guides you to lie on the bed on your back before moving your legs so your knees are almost against your chest. Then he secures them with a rope leading to the headboard so you can relax. He doesn't gag you again because he wants to hear you. You still don't speak.  
Your arms lie against your flexing stomach and you are open wide and at his mercy. That thought pleases you in a way it wouldn't have a year ago or even at the start of the scene. It's something that sneaks up on you every time.

You arch your back a little in content pleasure, and feel Stiles' warmth against the inside of your thighs as he kneels close to you and leans over you, kissing your chest. His hands land on your legs, and he squeezes the meat of your thighs gently before sliding them up to your ass.

He doesn’t tease you as long this time. Instead, he rubs his thumb over the rim of your hole where the plug is holding you open. Then he grips the base of the toy and pulls. You gasp open-mouthed when it pops out, and Stiles doesn't lose any time to push his fingers in to test how loose you are.

As he fingers you, Stiles' catches your mouth with his and you moan against him when he brushes over your prostate. You can feel Stiles panting against your lips and his hard cock rubbing against the crease of your thigh. He pulls back and you whine when you lose the warmth of his body. Your fingers tighten around the ball in your hand, but you don't feel empty for long as Stiles' latex-covered cock replaces his fingers.

He pushes into you slowly, and you gasp when he bottoms out, and he kisses the noise right out of your mouth. His thrusts are unhurried, and you try to urge him on by lifting your hips, but he only stills you with his hands on your thighs, pressing them down against your chest even more. 

When you try to wrap your hands around your cock a warning nip against your ankle stops you. You groan a little in frustration and get a little lick over the same spot in reaction. Stiles' mouth is stretched into a grin where it's pressed against the skin of your calf. His stomach is warm close to yours and you relax your body against the mattress.

It feels like hours until Stiles' hands finally wrap around your cock and your body tenses before you know it as you spill over your stomach with a cry. Your back arches, pressing down onto the dick in your ass, and you convulse around him. 

There is really nothing that tells you that Stiles comes, but after a while he collapses on you and pulls out of you so you think he did. 

Your chest is heaving and a palm rests on you a moment until Stiles unties your legs and eases them down, massaging the muscles that have gone tense. You sigh.

After that you feel Stiles rub his hands all over your sensitized skin and unties your arms, coaxing your fists open and kissing the insides of your palm before he straddles you.

Next Stiles places his hands on either side of your face and slips his fingers under the edge of the muffs to pull them up. Sound returns to you, and you smile a little lopsided when you hear Stiles mutter something against your mouth. You don't understand what he said, but you feel good and relaxed and maybe a little incoherent, your muscles feel like jelly. You don't really care what he said anyway.

You couldn't move even if you wanted to. You're tired so Stiles reaches up to slip off the blindfold next. 

The blinds are drawn over the windows so the room is dark and nothing hurts your eyes when you open them, but you see Stiles smile at you with bright shining eyes and scrape enough energy together to lean up for a kiss. Stiles hums against your mouth before leaning over the edge of your bed to reach for something.

Meanwhile you have sunken back against the bedding. You're tired, but you open your eyes when Stiles nudges you, and you take the bottle of apple juice he gives you. He steadies the bottle while you drink and gives you a piece of chocolate afterwards. You eat without complains and you lazily kiss until Stiles guides you under the blankets.

"Thank you." You whisper when he draws the blankets over you and snuggles against you.


End file.
